


Sweater Paws

by Vetashad



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, High School, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vetashad/pseuds/Vetashad
Summary: Satori was wearing an oversized grey hoodie with Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club printed across the front in white, accented with black and purple. Wakatoshi’s hoodie. “Satori. Why are you wearing my sweatshirt again?”“What? Because I like it! It’s cozy.” Satori pouted down at Wakatoshi.“You have your own. It’s hanging off the side of your bunk.”“Yeah, but I like yours better.”orUshijima Wakatoshi spends a day coming to terms with the fact that he can’t stop his boyfriend from wearing his clothes.
Relationships: Oohira Reon & Tendou Satori, Oohira Reon & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Semi Eita & Tendou Satori, Semi Eita & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 407





	Sweater Paws

**Author's Note:**

> It’s Softember, so here’s something soft!! It’s a bit of a slice of life piece, which was really fun to write so I hope it’s just as fun to read!!
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@vetashad](https://twitter.com/vetashad)
> 
> (Also don’t be afraid to tell me what you think in the comments or on twitter!! I love hearing what you have to say!!)

Wakatoshi set down his pencil, hand cramping from finishing the first draft of an essay for English in the notebook he left laying open on the desk. He sat back with a sigh of relief, flexing his fingers.

“Finish up?” Satori wandered across the room from Wakatoshi’s bottom bunk to the desks where he sat, messaging his fingertips.

Satori had pointed out time and time again that he “pressed too hard” with his pencil in his meticulous attempts at correctly forming the letters, based on how dark his lines were, the indents on the pages, how difficult his letters were to erase, and, most notably, how much his hands cramped. Wakatoshi hadn’t seen this evidence at first: he was too focused on the writing itself and his throbbing fingers. But, Satori’s observation had opened his eyes. Satori’s insights usually had that effect on Wakatoshi, it was something he loved about him: his endlessly sharp perception of the world around him, and energy to pursue the reasonings behind what he saw.

“Yes.” He confirmed as Satori shook his sleeves back from his hands, then draped his arms over Wakatoshi’s shoulders, setting his chin on the top of his head and picking up the notebook. 

He and Satori often proof-read each other’s essays, both for English _and_ Japanese. Satori was better in seemingly _all_ subjects than Wakatoshi, even without putting in hours of studying, but Wakatoshi was slower and more careful, so it was a mutual benefit: Satori read Wakatoshi’s for content and understandability, and Wakatoshi read Satori’s to catch any stupid mistakes, like words he missed when his thoughts were moving too fast for his pencil. And, their relationship as roommates and boyfriends made one another easy resources.

“You’ve got some weird grammar here.” Satori murmured and pointed to a spot midway through the second paragraph of the essay. Wakatoshi glared at the words. He had just spent enough time to freeze his hand into a claw, the most the essay could do was be _right_. “Don’t worry, it’s an easy fix.” Satori picked up Wakatoshi’s discarded pencil and wrote the correct form in the margin adjacent, in his lighter, uniquely loopy English script. 

Wakatoshi thought Satori’s handwriting was pleasing to look at, but also very _him_. It wasn’t quite cursive, but groups of letters connected with graceful flourishes, and it got messy when he rushed, either from the panic of a timed essay, or when he got excited about what he was writing about. It reflected his mood, and no word or letter looked the same twice. His writing was always so expressive, just like his face: his wide eyes and delicate eyebrows, not to mention his mouth—“…toshi. Wakatoshi! Did you hear me?”

“Um. No.” Wakatoshi refocused on the page, slightly sheepish for getting distracted and noticing the number of Satori’s corrections on his essay had grown since he last remembered. 

“I said, do know _why_ you have to use a comma here?”

“Because…I have information that technically could be left out?”

“Yes, but you also have to have a comma on the other side of that info,” Satori marked a comma inside a carrot mark where there had been empty space. “You have to enclose it, like trap it inside the commas.” Satori gestured with the notebook in one hand, the pencil in the other, using them both to surround some imaginary object. “Think about it like you’re gonna pick it up as a whole unit out of the sentence, but you’ve got to make sure it all stays together, trapped between the commas, first. That okay?”

“…sure.”

“Just make sure when you have the extra info, you put a comma where it starts _and_ stops.” Satori moved on, pencil tip hovering above the page, tracking along as he read. 

Satori finished soon enough, leaving little notes and editor’s marks across the page. He stretched his arms above his head after putting the notebook and pencil down, leaving Wakatoshi free to swivel around in the chair until he was facing Satori. He wrapped his arms around Satori’s waist as his stretch died down, and pulled him into his lap to bury his face in his narrow chest. Satori responded by putting his arms around the back of Wakatoshi’s head and neck, holding him comfortably against his body. They stayed like that for a moment, pressed against each other, before Satori spoke.

“We’re gonna fall off and die when this chair breaks under us. You know the school didn’t spend that much on them.”

Wakatoshi hugged him tighter. “It’s not going to break.” His voice was muffled against Satori’s sweatshirt, folded fabric redirecting his warm breath back against his face. It smelled like… _his own cologne_. Wakatoshi leaned back. Satori was wearing an oversized grey hoodie with _Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club_ printed across the front in white, accented with black and purple. Wakatoshi’s hoodie. “Satori. Why are you wearing my sweatshirt again?”

“What? Because I like it! It’s cozy.” Satori pouted down at Wakatoshi.

“You have your own. It’s hanging off the side of your bunk.” 

“Yeah, but I like yours better.” 

“It’s the same sweatshirt.” Wakatoshi eyed Satori’s where it hung, a sleeve dangling down.

“No, it’s not! Well, sorta, but yours is nicer! It’s comfier and keeps me warm better. And it smells like you.” Satori giggled as he pressed his face into the collar of Wakatoshi’s hoodie.

“How can it be more comfortable or keep you warm better if it’s made of the same material?” Satori _was_ being very cute, but he was still wearing Wakatoshi’s sweatshirt.

“It just is! Lemme me steal my boyfriend’s sweaters if I want to!” Wakatoshi frowned, but dropped the subject. He wasn’t getting any straight answers out of Satori, but maybe someone more reasonable would know if he asked later, like Reon or Semi. 

However, Wakatoshi was done with his homework for the night, so there was no reason left to stay at the desk. He shifted his hands from around Satori to under his thighs, earning a surprised squeak in the process, and stood up from the chair, taking Satori with him. Satori laughed and wrapped his legs around Wakatoshi’s waist as he carried him to the bottom bunk, only letting go to flop down on the bed. Wakatoshi followed, lying down next to Satori, who eagerly snuggled up under his arm.

Wakatoshi leaned to kiss Satori, meeting his lips gently, and being repaid with the feathery touch of fingertips resting on his chest and soft laughter. Wakatoshi slowly slid a hand under the hem of Satori’s hoodie, well, _his_ hoodie, and brushed a thumb over his hip, appreciating the feeling of soft skin over the ridge of bone as he kissed him. 

Wakatoshi liked to kiss Satori and touch him gently, shower him in all the affection he deserved, and chase the curling smile on his lips with his own to let him know just how much he was loved, to promise him he’d never be alone and abandoned again.

They stayed that way, kissing in earnest affection and touching adoringly for a while, until they deemed it an appropriate time to go get ready for bed, morning runs and practice on the horizon, but happy in each other’s company in the present. 

They punctuated their routines with tender caresses and sweet, fleeting kisses, often followed by Satori’s giggles until they parted at the ladder, Satori going up to his soft, messy nest, Wakatoshi getting into his neatly-made covers.

* * *

The next day, following morning practice, Wakatoshi approached Reon while Satori was in the shower. Generally, Reon seemed to understand the nuances of others’ behavior and was willing to explain or give advice if Wakatoshi asked.

“Reon, I have a question.” Wakatoshi stood to the side as Reon tied his tie, threading the top half through the knot and sliding it up to his collar.

“Yeah? Fire away.”

“Satori likes to wear my sweatshirts instead of his own. He says they’re ‘more comfortable’ or ‘cozier’ than his, even though they’re the same design. Why?” 

Reon raised both eyebrows at Wakatoshi for a moment before blowing a breath out of puffed cheeks. “That’s, uh, kinda a thing that couples do, I guess? They share, though one ‘stealing’ the other’s is more accurate, each other’s clothes. Satori likes yours because they’re big on him, though.” 

Wakatoshi furrowed his brow. “They can’t be that much bigger on him than they are on me. He’s less than an inch shorter than me.”

“But he also weighs less than you, right? And he’s not nearly as broad across the chest and shoulders—”

“A goddamned skinny gremlin is what he is!” Semi interrupted from across the locker room.

“I can hear you, Semi! You’re just jealous!” Satori yelled from the shower.

“Jealous of what? Your bony wrists and ankles? I don’t think so.”

“You suck, Semisemi!” 

“Anyway,” Reon continued, shrugging on his uniform jacket, “go put on his hoodie and find out. I’m telling you, it won’t be the same as yours.”

Wakatoshi frowned. “Okay.” He understood how clothing sizes worked, but maybe he didn’t realize how much smaller Satori was than him, seeing how he lived in oversized clothing that apparently made him look bigger than he was. Wakatoshi wondered if that was Satori’s intent, or just a side effect of how he liked to dress. 

Reon clapped Wakatoshi on the shoulder and hoisted his school bag up. “See you at lunch.” 

* * *

Wakatoshi didn’t _mean_ to think about his boyfriend in his clothes all day, but whenever he had a spare moment, his thoughts seemed to wander. Now that he knew that couples “sharing” clothes was a normal occurrence, he wasn’t going to ask Satori to stop: he looked cute in the oversized sweaters he was so fond of, with his sweater paws and cuddly coziness. And, if it made Satori comfortable to wear clothing that swamped his slender frame, Wakatoshi didn’t mind. He decided he actually rather _liked_ seeing Satori in his clothes.

Wakatoshi pondered this thought, mostly relying on the image of Satori wearing his hoodie the night prior, as he sat down at an empty table for lunch. He was the first one to arrive, so all he could do was sit down, start eating, and get lost in his thoughts for the hundredth time that day.

Semi arrived next. “What’re you thinking about?” he asked as he sat.

“Satori.”

Semi snorted. “Should’ve known.”

“Do you know why he likes to wear ill-fitting sweaters?” Semi cocked an eyebrow, chewing slowly, as Wakatoshi waited intently.

He swallowed, finally. “Uh, because he likes to? I dunno, I’ve always figured the main reason was he liked to slap people with his sleeves.” Wakatoshi considered this. It _was_ a relatively common occurrence for Satori to playfully smack Wakatoshi, and his other friends, on the arms or shoulders with the ends of his sleeves. It seemed to entertain Satori, resulting in delighted giggling, and it didn’t hurt, so no one ever stopped him, except Semi or Shirabu on occasion when he was really pushing their buttons. “Why?”

“I was wondering. He wears my sweatshirts even though they don’t fit him, but I _do_ like how he looks in them.” Semi choked on a bite of food, but waved off Wakatoshi’s puzzled concern as Reon finally arrived, Satori bouncing in tow.

“Toshi! I missed you!” Satori’s tray clattered slightly as he plopped it, and himself, down across from Wakatoshi.

“Hello, Satori.” Wakatoshi greeted him.

“Wow, clingy much?” Semi commented. Satori stuck his tongue out at Semi before turning back to Wakatoshi.

“He’s mean, do you _see_ him being mean?” Satori huffed, then, as Wakatoshi squeezed his knee comfortingly under the table, whipped out his phone for one of his daily rituals: he always took a picture of the lunch choices available for the day and sent them to Hayato, the only third year not in their lunch period, by virtue of how his class schedule fell. It annoyed Hayato to no end, getting Satori’s “lunch spoilers” in the beginning, but by that point in the year, it was just a fact of life.

“Have you been to Literature class yet?” Reon asked the table.

“No.” Wakatoshi said. Semi shook his head.

Satori, though, slapped down his phone. “ _Yes_! The prompt for the essay is _so_ good! I’m gonna write about how the dudes in the poem we read are gay and the teacher can’t stop me!”

“I…don’t know how to respond to that, but okay.” Reon put a bite of food in his mouth, looking bewildered. 

“Okay, so like the poem never specified how these dudes know each other, right? Only that they have history together and that there’s bad blood between them. It’s simple: the prompt asks about how they see each other and how that reflects on how they treat each other so _boom_! Ex-boyfriends. The teacher’s gonna be so mad!” Satori laughed. Or, more accurately, cackled, but Wakatoshi enjoyed watching his antics. Satori took risks, pushed the boundaries of what society considers “normal thinking” simply for the fun of it, and, Wakatoshi suspected, to see if he could get away with it. He never did anything dangerous, just things that stretched others’ understanding in ways that might be foreign to them. Satori had certainly done it to Wakatoshi, and it had opened his eyes to so many more interpretations of the world than he knew.

“Yeah, that’s not what the poem’s about.” Semi looked unimpressed.

“Hey! It’s a valid analysis! There’s actually a whole bunch of evidence in it that supports it!” Satori pointed his chopsticks at Semi accusingly. Wakatoshi reached across the table to take Satori’s free hand to calm him and to prompt him to eat his lunch.

The rest of their lunch went on like that: discussions about class, complaints about homework, spirited banter, reminders for Satori to eat instead of getting distracted by everything, and Wakatoshi holding Satori’s hand across the table. 

He stroked Satori’s knuckles slowly with his thumb, feeling the minute, automatic flexes and twitches in his fingers as Satori reacted to the turns of the conversation. His hands fascinated Wakatoshi: they never stopped moving, weaving in and out of conversation and action like ribbons in the wind, twisting into new shapes and expressions with each changing second. Yet, his movements were measured, graceful even, as if his hands were playing out a dance with a rhythm unknown to all but him. 

And, physically, they were no less interesting. Satori’s fingers were long and slender, his palms narrower than Wakatoshi’s own broad hands, and bonier, showing joints and tendons underneath, every contraction evident. His skin was pale, bluish purple veins snaking down his arms, and showing clearly in the milky translucence of his inner wrist. And, though his touches were gentle and his skin soft, his fingers were not always unblemished. Sometimes they were bruised or cut, marked by signs of persistence and hard work, but never rough. This time, as Wakatoshi turned Satori’s palm to the ceiling, he could see evidence of healing wounds, pinkish skin slowly knitting together again at the bends of his fingers.

Wakatoshi often kissed Satori’s hands, his knuckles, or palms, or fingers, to show him how he loved all the wonderful things they could do, all the wonderful things _Satori_ could do. However, he figured in the middle of the school cafeteria during the lunch rush was probably not an appropriate time for such things.

“Hey, Earth to Wakatoshi. What are you staring at my hand for?” Wakatoshi looked up to see Satori looking at him, wide, warm eyes focused on him and a soft smile curling his lips. “Well, lunch is almost over. See you in English?”

“Yes, of course.” Wakatoshi squeezed Satori’s hand one last time before letting him go. He watched him walk away, to the other side of the cafeteria in the direction of his post-lunch class, and in the opposite direction of Wakatoshi’s next class, his idle thoughts once again reminding him of his plan for later: try on Satori’s sweatshirt.

* * *

Wakatoshi got lucky at the end of the day after practice: Satori said he wanted to check in on a teacher about a letter of recommendation, so Wakatoshi would at least be alone for a few minutes. 

Wakatoshi honestly wasn’t sure why he felt the need to sneak around, but asking Satori to put on one of his hoodies seemed awkward, and just casually picking one up didn’t seem like the right option either. 

When he opened the door to their room, he checked inside carefully, even though he and Satori had left from the locker room together, Satori to that teacher, Wakatoshi to the dorm. It was a little paranoid for Wakatoshi, but he wanted to make sure he was alone.

Once he had guaranteed the coast was clear, he shut the door behind him softly and locked it. Locking it wouldn’t keep Satori out, since he had his own key, but it would keep others from seeing Wakatoshi engaging in a potentially embarrassing act if they happened to try to barge in at the wrong moment.

Wakatoshi set his bag down, and turned to the bunk, looking for Satori’s hoodie. It usually hung off the side of the bunk, within reach when he got cold during the night, or when he was relaxing on his bunk with a Jump issue or game.

But, it wasn’t dangling from the rails like Wakatoshi expected it to be. He turned a slow circle in the room, searching every corner of the room, until his eyes fell on Satori’s laundry hamper. That would be an unfortunate place for it to be, considering they both had daily damp and sweaty additions to their laundry baskets. Wakatoshi approached slowly, apprehensive like some kind of monster was going to spring forth from the hamper’s depths. But within was only what he expected to see: dirty clothes.

He pawed through the top layer, but turned up nothing. Wakatoshi was stumped. It wasn’t in its usual place, nor in the laundry waiting to be washed. It wasn’t hanging off the back of Satori’s desk chair; he would easily spot it there. 

He searched the closet next, then the floor, before realizing he had been at his hunt for a few minutes now, enough time for Satori to run to that teacher’s room and ask about his letter. 

His heart thumped in his chest, unnecessarily quickly; he wasn’t doing anything _wrong_ , but he felt the guilt wash over him anyway. Wakatoshi certainly wasn’t used to this “sneaking around” thing.

Wakatoshi returned to the middle of the room for another slow rotation, and his eyes fell on the only place he hadn’t looked: Satori’s bunk.

Wakatoshi didn’t often visit Satori’s bunk, or _any_ top bunk. Satori liked to hang out on Wakatoshi’s bed, or on the floor if they were together. It had been an sort of unspoken decision, or really, invasion by Satori. Not that Wakatoshi minded; he wasn’t sure being on top bunk would make him feel safe.

But all he had to do was peek up there, right? 

Wakatoshi grasped both sides of the ladder, metal cool under his sweating palms, and slowly positioned one of his feet on a low rung. The rung wobbled under his weight, and Wakatoshi tightened his grip on the sides until his knuckles were white. When the bottom rung seemed stable enough under his foot, he slowly raised himself up to look over the edge of the mattress. It was fortunate for him that he was tall; otherwise, he’d have to ascend a few more rungs, which _wasn’t_ a risk he wanted to take. Wakatoshi honestly didn’t know how Satori could stand to climb the ladder so recklessly when it shook like _that_.

Satori’s bed looked like, well, what he expected. Colorful and brightly patterned blankets were arranged in an uneven “nest” that Satori buried himself in every night. Plushies and soft toys lined the wall, where they ended up as he moved around as he slept. Wakatoshi didn’t remember or recognize most of the characters or creatures the plushies were; the only one he recognized was the largest one, a stuffed Pokémon, _Gengar_ , Satori had called it. It was round and purple, with a wide grin and red eyes. 

Wakatoshi would have been somewhat unnerved by its appearance if it wasn’t Satori’s favorite plush and Pokémon. Now, Wakatoshi could appreciate the similarities between Satori and the Gengar: they had identical smug, knowing looks. It was wedged in the corner against the wall, next to Satori’s main pillow.

And, shoved halfway under the Gengar, guarded by its piercing eyes and sneer, was Satori’s sweatshirt. 

Wakatoshi heaved a sign and lunged forward to catch one of its trailing sleeves. _Finding_ it had been an ordeal, and he hadn’t even gotten to the part he didn’t want Satori to catch him in the middle of yet.

He returned to solid ground, listening for the key in the lock, or the sound of Satori coming down the hallway, but heard nothing. It seemed safe to Wakatoshi, so he decided to proceed.

Wakatoshi turned his attention back to the hoodie in his hands. It was grey, with _Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club_ scrawled across the front in black, white, and purple. Identical to his own, until he checked the tag. Reon had been right: it _was_ a smaller size. That made sense. Satori was of a smaller build than Wakatoshi: he saw it in his lean legs, his flat stomach, his slender arms, his graceful neck. 

But, Reon had also encouraged Wakatoshi to put it on and see the difference for himself. 

As soon as he put it over his head, he knew it was too small, but since it was cotton, it had a little stretch to it. Wakatoshi managed to get it down all the way, but it was much too tight, especially across his chest and shoulders, and in the sleeves, around his biceps. The sleeves of his t-shirt bunched uncomfortably in his armpits, and as he reached one arm up the front of the hoodie to hopefully wiggle one free, he heard the door open.

His head shot up and he froze as he met Satori’s stunned stare.

“…what are you up to, Wakatoshi?” Satori asked slowly, closing the door behind him.

Wakatoshi fumbled for a response, but came up with nothing. And, he wasn’t one to make excuses, so he just stayed silent. He wasn’t sure there was anything he could say that would explain the situation he was in, tangled in a too-small sweatshirt with one hand shoved up the front and a look of wide-eyed shock on his face.

Worry, however, was starting to grip Wakatoshi. _Satori_ wasn’t saying anything. Was he angry that Wakatoshi was touching his belongings? Or, perhaps because there was a possibility his hoodie could be ruined, stretched out, or torn? Was Wakatoshi breaking his trust by going through his stuff without asking?

But, slowly, Satori stepped towards Wakatoshi, a grin spreading across his face. He was only a few feet away when he could no longer contain his laughter.

“Satori?” Wakatoshi asked gingerly.

“ _What_ is going on, Toshi?” Satori could hardly contain his laughter, face flushed red. “Lemme help you take that off.” His long fingers found the hem of the hoodie, then he and Wakatoshi pulled in opposite directions, leaving Satori, still laughing, with an inside out hoodie in his hands and Wakatoshi resettling his t-shirt, face _also_ red, but from embarrassment. “I just don’t—just _what_ , Wakatoshi?” 

“Sorry.” Wakatoshi said lamely.

“ _‘Sorry’_? For _what_? That was the funniest thing I’ve _ever_ seen! You should have seen the look on your face when I came in!” Satori went into a laughing fit again, gesturing weakly to Wakatoshi’s face with the hoodie in his hand.

Wakatoshi stood, looking at Satori, mystified. He thought it was _funny_ that Wakatoshi was stealing his clothes? 

Satori sank to the floor, gasping for breath. Wakatoshi sat down next to him, trying to process, and received Satori’s face buried in his shoulder as his body shook, but no sound came out.

Abruptly, Satori pulled his face away. “Oh my god, Wakatoshi, you looked so guilty!” He wiped tears from his grinning face. “It was, like, _comical_!” He shoved his face against Wakatoshi’s shoulder again, until he calmed down to just fits of giggling.

Wakatoshi didn’t know what to think. He felt, well, _guilty_ , like Satori had said, but what he _hadn’t_ said was that he was angry, like Wakatoshi halfway expected him to be.

“What prompted that anyway?” Satori asked, slightly breathless.

“I…was thinking about how you wear my sweatshirts.”

Satori shot up to face Wakatoshi. “Really? Hell, Wakatoshi that’s even _better_. But,” Satori took Wakatoshi’s face in his hands, “maybe you should leave the hoodie-stealing to me.”

“I think that’s for the best.” Wakatoshi leaned forward to kiss Satori. “You look better in my clothes than I do in yours.”

Satori giggled. “So you’ll let me keep stealing your hoodies?”

“Yes, you can wear my sweatshirts. I’ll even let you wear my t-shirts, too.” Satori’s eyes shone, and Wakatoshi smiled. He loved to see Satori happy, and if little things like wearing his sweaters made his eyes shine like that, he’d do anything to keep it that way. _Especially_ if it meant he got to see Satori in his clothes.


End file.
